


Conversation

by Drocell



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Flash Fic, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-26
Updated: 2010-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-09 04:24:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drocell/pseuds/Drocell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had been coming there almost every night. A simple conversation, but something was different this time. It felt like the last time he would share a drink with the friendly 'tender. Doyle had a feeling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> 500 words exactly.   
> It says only 491 words, but it **is** 500.
> 
> **Characters:** Doyle &amp; unnamed bartender.

He'd been coming there almost every night. Ever since the night that he had gotten into a brawl with a certain hot-tempered schmuck, and ended up clumsily knocking a tray out of one of the bartenders' hands. In his drunken fit, he hadn't bothered to apologize to the exhausted looking 'tender. The only thing he cared about, if it mattered at all, was beating the arrogance out of that young punk that had started everything. The twit ruined his perfect evening of drinking alone.

Doyle was surprised when the bouncer didn't toss him out by his head. The large man, that honestly resembled a giant, ended up turning all his aggravation onto the cocky college student, and practically tossed the punk through the door. The bouncer than ordered another round for Doyle, and left the half-demon to drink away his sorrows in solitude.

It hadn't occurred to him until the morning after, that he had neglected to apologize to the bartender. Showing up later that night, Doyle pleaded for the young woman to forgive him. She had. Yet, Doyle still felt horrible for his brash behavior, and that's what led him to spend nearly every free evening, or night, in this quaint place.

It started out as drinking, then as repentance for his actions, but by the second week at the little bar, Doyle's motives morphed into that of companionship. Between the head-splitting visions, the demon fighting, Angel Investigations, and pining after the superficial woman that he had developed a lusting crush for, all Doyle really needed at the end of the night was a round of Scotch, and a friendly conversation with the young bartender.

"Ever get that feelin'," he said, "A feelin' somethin's gonna happen?"

The bartender glanced over the rim of her mug. Her hazel eyes flashed with curiosity, and slight bewilderment.

"Something good, or something bad?" she asked.

"Bad, real bad," he muttered. Doyle downed another glass of Scotch, and gently nudged the empty glass towards her.

She put her own down, and gave the fretting man a refill. "Bad things happen all the time. Ya' get over it," she said.

His fingers danced around the rim of his glass. "What if ya' can't? What if it's somethin' you're not comin' back from?"

Dark brows furrowed in confusion, and her lips tugged into a frown. "You're being awfully cryptic about this feeling thing."

Doyle stared into the glass of copper liquid. "Just a feelin', that's all it ever is."

The bartender didn't say anything else, she just allowed him to sit in his brooding silence.

His hand pushed the full glass away before he dug around in his pocket for the right amount. Doyle dropped the crumbled bills, and coins, on the counter. Dejectedly, he slid off the leather stool, and headed for the door. He stopped briefly, turning just enough to gather a look at the bartender through the crowded room.

"Thanks for the conversations, princess."


End file.
